


Haddonfield Municipal Cemetery

by quinnvestigation



Category: Haddonfield - Fandom, Halloween Movies - All Media Types, Michael Myers - Fandom, Slasher Films - Fandom, Slashers - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnvestigation/pseuds/quinnvestigation
Summary: You are walking one night in Haddonfield, Illinois, where you have recently moved back to. You meet the infamous killer Michael Myers, but have empathy for him, leading to a wholly unexpected connection.





	1. I

The silence is the first thing you notice. You know not to be out late, but staying in the house and feeling the walls close in around you was unbearable, and surely in such a benign town as Haddonfield, strolling around the block can’t hurt. You always seem to be on edge these days, but as your footsteps on the pavement become isolated and deafening in the night air you feel a shiver down your spine. Isolated. Without the normal night ambiance of crickets or the far off noise of the late night drivers, your every step seems to set off an earthquake of noise.  
‘Nothing to worry about,’ you think to yourself, ‘just me being paranoid.’, but as you read the nearest street sign as you pass it, the grim realization of how far you’ve strayed away from the safety of suburbia hits you in an instant. The anxiety you’ve been holding at bay comes crashing in on you, and you feel your pulse quicken. You spin in your heels to leave and you see him. Some figure, some… shape. Exactly what you were afraid of.  
Running toward him is not an option, nor is running away into the unknown. Reality crashes into you while you take in this Shape’s appearance. Dark coveralls. Dark boots. Dark hair. Standing in stark contrast is the mask he wears, a plaster white visage, eye sockets blacker than anything else in the terrifying scenario you’ve placed yourself in.  
Legs buckle. Cold pavement on your palms. You know it’s hopeless. Through eyes blurring with tears, you see them. Two boots. Deep blue coveralls. You expect a blade, for a rough hand to grab your hair.  
The last thing you expected in this moment was comfort. A soft hand on your cheek. You let out a last sob, more from surprise than fear. Why comfort? Even in the darkness, with the moon your only source of light, you see the glint through his mask. His eyes. His brown eyes filled with… Understanding? Confusion? Desire?  
Before you can identify the emotion in the eyes of this looming figure, he bends down and sweeps you up into his arms. Despite the logical side of your brain screaming at you to fight back, to flee, the rocking of his arms as he carries you back the way you came is comforting. Besides, what other choice do you have? This stranger is caring for you now, but you can feel just below his calm surface is a cold, calculated rage. Were you to give any sign of fear, it may be the last thing you ever do.  
It is this thought which brings back the tears, and they stream into the dark fabric enveloping you. The arms tighten around you, both as a reassurance and as a treat. As you enter back into the neighborhood you know so well, the man takes an unexpected turn, taking you into a different corner of the quaint little town of Haddonfield.  
The chill greets you before you understand where he has taken you. The cemetery. You watch in confusion as he navigates between the headstones, and finding the plot after a few long strides he lays you gently in the grass, wiping the tears away from your face with his thumb. It strikes you again the insanity of not taking any chance to escape, and in a split second, you scramble to escape the macabre scene around you. There was no hope, and you don’t even have your feet under you before his hands grab you by the shoulders and spins you to face away from his body. You slowly understand that he is prompting you to read the headstone, and you kneel trembling to try and make out the etching on the gravestone, his hands receding. Judith Myers. Judith Myers?  
You gasp as all the legends and myths come flooding back. The Shape, the Boogeyman, him.  
The pieces connect in your mind and all the conflicting feelings you had even as a child hearing about his treatment come flooding back. You turn to see Michael also kneeling, his mask facing the ground. This is a murderer, but you are not afraid. This a child, who never was given love or understanding. He jumps, surprised to find your arms wrapped around him. You know what he is capable of, but you also know what can come from understanding. He should be feared, but you feel the connection between the two of you as you slide your hand down to his. You feel his body, now lacking the intensity in his muscles, and instead you feel the sorrow radiating from the poor boy. It is far too much for you, and you wrap your arms again around his neck, pressing your body against his.  
He lifts his masked head and your hair falls in his face, exchanging each others scents.  
“I’m so sorry” you whisper in his ear, with your cheeks pressed together. “We have each othe-”  
He throws you off of him, almost hitting your head on his sisters headstone. Your arms are pinned at your side and he moves up your body.  
Hips, waist, chest, neck, and stops just inches away from your face. You are panting from the shock of the action, but he is silent as his head tilts slowly to the right. He lifts you by the front of your hoodie, spinning and throwing you against the slab of stone marking the final resting place of Judith Myers. The wind is knocked out of you as the soft of your stomach is pressed against the cold stone, and Michael, pressing against you from behind, wraps your hair around his clenched fist.


	2. II

Michael’s hands are enormous, and as gentle as they were before they are rough now. They wrap easily around your arms, and he pushes you down over rough hewn rock. This… is horrific? Is a dream come true? It is a surprise, to be sure. Before you have time to gather the mess of thoughts in your head at this moment, Michael’s hands release from your arms and instead settle on your waist. You let out a gasp as his fingers move slowly down to grab your hip bones from behind, compressing you into his form as his arms move back and his hips move forward. Giving another jerk forward with his body, you feel an electricity you have never felt before, and know exactly what is to come. I mean sure, you’ve had sex before, but not like this. Nothing at all like this!  
He pulls down your denim jeans, not taking the time to unbutton them, and not taking the time to separate them from your panties, which are likewise brought to the ground by the man emanating a cold lust behind you. You shiver from the sudden cold, but as if he knew exactly how you felt in the cold October air, he spins you around once more, to caress and warm your legs. The switch between erotic and caring is sudden, and leaves your head spinning from you accepting this astonishing turn of events. It strikes you that while the raw energy from him is palpable, but being around him still feels like empty space, like dead air. This terrifying beast is also a paradox, which scares and captivates you. Leaning against the tomb behind you, you watch as Michael Myers, mask still on, pulls you in for a kiss.  
His lips, even through his dimestore mask are full, and fit perfectly with yours. The kiss continues, and his right hand begins tracing downward, almost in a teasing fashion. His motions are not elegant, or smooth, but they are purposeful. They are imbued with the same raw power as the rest of him. Eager for the encounter to continue, you fall forward onto his lap, urging him to go further.  
Instead, in a split-second he throws you to the ground, pinning both of your hands above your head, easily securing them together only using one hand of his own, on the dewy grass. Finally, wasting no more time, he wrenches your legs apart, grabbing your flesh and sending a dose of agony through your body. A holy agony. His fingers moving with precision, he strokes you from bottom to top, finding the switch to turn you on.  
Treating your clitoris with just enough sensitivity to make you stay, but more than enough to make you squeal, he slides back down through your folds, unflinching at the near flood in your undercarriage. Soaking his soft hands, he plays with your opening, letting you prepa-  
You gasp as two of his thick fingers plunge inside you, forcing your walls apart and igniting a flame in your center. You can feel the potential in these hands. If he wanted, he could leave you raw in a ditch somewhere, but instead, you are looking in his eyes gleaming with desire, caring for you.  
“Mu- more!” you beg in between gasps.  
Fueled by rage and lust and the devil herself, Michael lifts you effortlessly once more to be bending over Judith’s grave. Completely ignoring what could mean from this escapade in the future, you are more than thrilled when you hear Michaels jumpsuit fall to the ground, and feel his hard cock press into your ass.  
He teases you with the tip, and then swinging his arm back, smacks your ass, leaving a sting that, while painful, you can’t help but want more of. Michael continues, and every time you feel every muscle in your body tighten. He hits you again, this time grabbing your ass with his thick hands and taking you in toward him. It feels like he is going to rip you apart, and you can’t help but scream in pleasure, to scream in ecstasy.


	3. III

You are lying in the grass, panting heavily. You look over to your companion, and he is as still and silent as the dead, wearing nothing but his expressionless mask. He likewise lies on his back, facing the sky, with barely a breath to hear. You think about touching your hand to his face, or leaning into his warm body, but any movement feels like an unreasonable amount of effort. Instead you slide your hand over the dewey grass to meet the tips of his fingers. Cold to the touch, but you keep yours brushing his, letting him know you are there, and you are grateful for everything that has happened this night. 

With all the energy your graveyard escapade took, you feel your eyes drooping, throat still sore. You reminisce on screaming into the hand he had pressed against your mouth to dull the sounds you had made, and feel a whimper creeping out of you. 

Michael sits up, and you realize just how much of a mess you look lying on the ground. Hair in bundles around your head, hoodie insulating the cold sweat you exude, pants around your ankles. This sends a shiver through your body, and you likewise sit up, tugging your pants back up to no longer expose your skin rough from goosebumps. Eyes stinging from a freezing gust of wind, your teeth begin to chatter and Michael pulls you close, his body giving you heat and a respite from the Illinois gales. His hands on your back he pulls you into an embrace, which quickly results in renewed vigor for heat and friction. 

His fingers trace across your waist, to draw them northerly to your neck. Pulling your face towards him he kisses you, and you eagerly accept. You feel his body, previously moving rhythmically with yours tense, and you are pushed back to the ground, hand landing dangerously close to a headstone. On his knees, but still towering over you, he pulls you by your limbs and clothes until you are face up on the ground staring down his _monster_ cock, which you didn’t think you could take.

Grabbing a handful of your hair, the full length of the cock of Michael Myers dives through your lips, past, your tongue, and into your throat. Your hands dart to where his gigantic member was all but demolishing the inside of your sweet neck, but he pins you down without taking any length of his dick out of you. Your wrists pinned, mouth wet, eyes pointed toward those two dark holes in his mask, Michael begins thrusting his hips back and forth.


End file.
